


´Cuz some of us in the gutter are looking up to the stars

by witchspellbook



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ? - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other, Tired Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchspellbook/pseuds/witchspellbook
Summary: “No Aziraphale. I’m in love with you.” and there it is, the frenzied panic he’s been waiting for._________It was all there, he could feel it, all there and some more but was that really more important that the fact that Crowley had told him he loves him and then left him? Than the fact that Crowley had said that looking defeated and tired. Like saying ‘I know you don't love me and you won't ever do so goodbye, love, I won't bother you again’ like he was taking himself out of Aziraphale’s hair forever and wasn't it selfish?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	´Cuz some of us in the gutter are looking up to the stars

**Author's Note:**

> tiny thing, it was meant to be a bit more angsty, depending on how i feel and/or the reception of this i may or may not write some more chapters, probably angsty as well and maybe change the rating with the chapters.
> 
> anyway, i hope all of you are doing ok and if not i hope you welcome this distraction.
> 
> title from MIKA's "good guys"
> 
> please enjoy!

“I love you” Crowley says.

They are sitting at the Ritz; they are alive and safe and Crowley feels the weight of his entire existence on top of his shoulders. Eighteen hours, six thousand years and all the time when time wasn’t time, before the smoke and sulphur and flame, before, when the stars didn't shine and his voice was quiet and clear, before losing faith and before even having it. The weight of coming to life, of breathing for the very first time.

“Oh, I love you too, dear” Aziraphale answers and takes another bite of his desert and Crowley aches.

“No, Aziraphale. I’m _in love_ with you.” and there it is, the frenzied panic he’s been waiting for. Aziraphale’s fork stop in the middle of its way to his mouth, mouth that is hanging open, he swallows hard and looks at Crowley and then upwards and then at him again “You don't have to say anything. I just thought I’d let you know. It’s only fair for both of us. To put all our cards on the table” he takes a sip on his coffee, like if the words that had burned on his tongue since the moment he first saw the angel hadn’t just left his mouth.

But he is tired.

Of playing to be someone he isn't, of hiding the things he really wants to be. So, he sips his coffee and asks for the check and waits for Aziraphale to finish his dessert before he gets up of the table and walks the angel to the street.

Aziraphale looks distracted and anxious (guilty, says a part of his mind) and within reason. Crowley has just dropped a truth bomb on him without previous notice. He fumbles with his cuffs and the edge of his waistcoat and it's all quite cute but Crowley is tired and he feels it in the way his corporation’s eyelids weight and its feet drags.

They are outside when Aziraphale asks:

“What will you do now?” now, as in the next five hours. There is something hopeful in there but Crowley knows the dangers of hope and he misses his bed and his plants and his Bentley that may not be burned anymore but is not there with him right now.

“I’m going to sleep. This has been a hard decade, angel, and I need some rest” a soft _oh_ leaves the angel’s mouth and Crowley wants to laugh a little of his bad concealed disappointment.

“I was… I hoped… how long? How much do you plan to sleep?”

“Two weeks? Three years? I’m not sure, angel, whatever feels right. Don't look so disappointed,” he mimics something Aziraphale had said to him once “you go and enjoy your bookshop, you deserve it. You should get some rest too, the 10’s hasn't been nice to us. See you around, angel.”

He then leans and places a single kiss in the angel’s rosy cheek and walks away towards Mayfair.

He doesn't turn around to see Aziraphale try to reach for him and give up. Or how Aziraphale stays there, standing for half an hour feeling truly lonely for the first time of his long life.

____________

Back at his flat, the very first thing Crowley notices is the chlorine-aseptic smell of holy water and the stank of melted demon, evil and malice impregnating his floors like a creeping fog. If he ever falls into holy water, he is sure he won't smell like that. He is pretty sure most demons wouldn’t smell like that. There’s need of one kind of purposefully evil, sadistic and rotten to stank like that. And so, he sighs and cleans, clad in rubber he mops and spreads battlefield soil over the wet patch until the stank and aseptic smell are gone.

He is heading to bed after a shower when his phone rings. He summons his glasses and sighs, all right, here we go.

____________

Twenty minutes away in an old bookshop in SoHo an angel paces through his collection without really seen. It was all there, he could feel it, all there and some more but was that really more important that the fact that Crowley had told him he loves him and then left him? Than the fact that Crowley had said that looking defeated and tired and had kissed him on the cheek like saying ‘goodbye’? Like saying ‘I know you don't love me and I know you won't ever do so goodbye, love, I won't bother you again’ like he was taking himself out of Aziraphale’s hair forever and wasn't it selfish? After saving each other bums and saving humanity and renouncing to their own sides for each other and six thousand years of repressed feelings and denial giving up just like that wasn't it just selfish?

Aziraphale huffs through his shelfs, picking up books mindlessly from tables and dropping them on other tables. Who, in this green(-ish, they shouldn't have left Adam un-grow the Amazon) Earth, who had told Crowley that it was ok to give up? Now? Of all time? When Earth is safe and they are alive and the antichrist and his friends (squad? Crew? Apostles?) are a darling lot and Aziraphale feels about to burst from love for the Earth and this cosmos and love for humanity and their witty solutions and creations and love for Crowley. Why hadn't he told Crowley? Oh, but he had! He had told him I love you and Aziraphale had answered right back and Crowley had said no! As if Crowley knew exactly what he was feeling (truth be told, about certain topics, most of the time Aziraphale found wrapped in so much denial he wasn't sure what he was feeling himself) but Crowley had to know, oh he'd let him know, he’d call him and yes, Crowley was rather the speed demons but if he believes that Aziraphale wasn't interested in him in-in a sort of romantic interest, that's it- and he wasn't going to deny Crowley of rest, of course, but the demon would have to listen to him, and, and after Crowley had had his nap, yes, he’ll make the demon take him in a proper date, Aziraphale decided starting to disc the number of his phone, they'll go to a nice place. But the nicer place he could think of without leaving the islands was the Ritz and they just had left the Ritz and Crowley had paid the whole tab instead of splitting it like usual, he had been doing that for the last eleven years, in fact, and when they had gone to the theatre too, like dates, Aziraphale realized. He also realized that Crowley wasn’t answering, not himself, not his blasted recording and Crowley had always answered him, always except that time two days ago when the dukes of Hell were attacking him and his bookshop caught on fire.

It couldn't be, right? Crowley couldn't be in trouble, not so soon. Hell wouldn't have come for him already, right? Crowley was probably sleeping already and that's why he isn't answering, that must be it, but then, his machine would have taken the call, he would be listening to Crowley’s voice being silly about his phone right now if that was the case. Maybe Crowley had just unplugged his phone to have an uneventful nap, right? Right?

Before he realizes it Aziraphale is walking coatless out the streets of SoHo, making his way towards Mayfair, and because the bookshop is only open when he is inside it, it locks the doors and changes the open sing to closed without him having to spear a thought.

The way from his bookshop to Crowley’s flat complex takes 20 minutes by car (seven if it’s Crowley) and fifteen minutes on foot, Aziraphale gets there in eight without running (Aziraphale doesn't run, he can walk for weeks on end without noticing and yield a sword like it weights no more than a pen, which he rather prefers, but Aziraphale doesn't run)[1]. The doorman lets him in because apparently, he is Crowley’s emergency contact and the trip on the lift is actually more nerve wrecking than his walk through London. And when he reaches the penthouse with the serpent engraved doorbell, he all but trashes the door open.

____________

There is a loud noise somewhere near but he pays no mind to it. There are always loud noises in London. he drags a hand over his face and sighs, Jesus fuck, everything hurts. Crowley considers unfolding his wings to manage the tension in his muscles and draws in favour to it, unfolding just two of them. They sag dark against his back, there are feathers out of place, but that's bound to happen after the week he just went through. He cards his fingers mindlessly about them and makes an assertive sound.

“Yes, _yes_ , I promise,” he says to his phone “yes, I’ll answer anything you want to know. Yes! I already promised I’ll get you five ice cream flavours you don't know; I'll be there!”

That's the moment Aziraphale choses to burst through the door of his studio, hundreds of eyes and holy light pouring out of him in righteous fury.

“Let go of Crowley, you filth!” A thousand voices in a thousand tongues reverberate between the walls of his studio. Crowley can almost see the angel’s four heads from where he is sitting, cocooned by his wings that felt the burst of ethereal power before his conscious mind did.

“Say hi to Aziraphale from me!” Says Adam and hangs up on him, leaving him to deal with whatever the Heavens is wrong with the angel right now.

He has not much time to do anything before Aziraphale arms are surrounding him hugging him from below his arms and wings, protective and absolutely unnecessary because Crowley can see Aziraphale hundreds of eyes realizing that there is no danger whatsoever and it's just the two of them alone in the room.

“What's wrong with you right now, angel?!”

“You did not answer your phone!” He says, eyes blinking away but the angry voices still reverberate in the room. He has let go of him at least and Crowley stumbles back to his throne, willing with all he’s got that at least this conversation makes sense after he sleeps a bit. Aziraphale helps him down with a death grip on his arm.

“I was talking on it?!”

“Your answering phone did not pick up!”

“Ansaphone! And Adam called me on my landline!” Crowley answers helpless because really, he is too drained to try to understand, and he has made _promises_ and he’d like to sleep as much as he can before he has to fulfil them. He leans his elbows firm on his ornate desk and sinks the hill of his hands on the hollow of his eyes, under his glasses, right, he hasn't even taken his glasses off. “What happens, Aziraphale? Should we go into hiding? Have you seen something?”

“You were not answering your phone, Crowley! The last time you did not properly answered me the bookshop burned up and I almost lost you to Satan!”

“Oh, angel…”

“Crowley, I…” Aziraphale mumbles, having realized he just made a scene over nothing, his voice having gone back to usual while still holding Crowley by his arms “I just… humans sometimes say that I look like an anxious person and maybe they are right. I just… I just got worried. The jittery feeling of the week has still not worn off and just the thought of you- you getting harmed was too much for me to bear. I just, I don't want to see you hurt. I don't want ever to see you hurt, and if God is willing we will live long enough for me to know that that’s not possible, but if I can do anything to keep you from harm… Crowley I swear on my wings I will do it.”

Aziraphale has finally let go of him and Crowley lets himself slide downs on his throne. His head is throbbing and his neck is just a rat nest of knots, Aziraphale is making promises too big for him to understand and he is already trying to figure out what ice cream flavours twelve-year olds like.

His flat is not safe anymore but it’s the best he has on his own and by all the water in the oceans and all the stars in the firmament he needs his nap.

“I’m fine angel” he sighs, there is nothing else for him to do, really.

“Yes! Yes, I know. I-I can see…” Aziraphale says doing that cute thing with his hands that he does when he is nervous, he does that sometimes, when he is not sure if his decisions, he usually does the right thing, even if it's not always the Right thing. “Crowley you… you didn't answer and I could see every bad scenario rolling through my mind and the thought of something happening to you without you knowing I love you…”

“Aziraphale, I know,” because he does, even if the angel denies it, Crowley knows he cares for him. He knows they are actually friends and important for each other.

“But you don't!” The angel stomps down the floor in a gesture that reminds Crowley of Warlock. Cute. “I am in love with you too! And I know I haven't acted like I was and that I have said some very horrible things to you and I have taken an awfully long time to realize it and to address it and I called you to yell at you because how dare you? How dare you not have faith in me on this thing? And to demand that you take me on a date to the nicer place we know but then I realized that you have been taking me on dates for so long already…”

At some point Aziraphale had started to pace the room but now he stands in front of Crowley, the ornate desk, knowing better that to get in the way of an angel so it gives way for Aziraphale to stand and Crowley is not sure how it happened - he is not sure how any of the last two hours have happened - but Aziraphale has his face sandwiched between two strong, perfectly manicured, rough hands.

“Crowley, I love you. I love you like the meat loves the salt and like the ocean loves the moon. Like the blood love oxygen and like you love me. You are the best thing that has happened to me, even if you come straight from Hell and I haven't tired of you on six thousand years and I have the certainty that I won't tire of you ever.”

Aziraphale kisses him then and the words repeat themselves on a thousand voices in a thousand tongues, soft whispers that cool the burning ulcers of his soul, the angel’s lips are soft and one of his hands has migrated now to the nape of his neck where is scratching lovingly his hair and the other has gone down to the place where his feathers start and scratches in the same manner, so nice Crowley’s eyes close and his body sags forward, the aches on his soul diming and the angel is warm like a blanket just out of the dryer over a stone in the sun and he is going to fall asleep on Aziraphale, how embarrassing.

“Oh- oh, dear” Aziraphale says when Crowley yawns breaking the kiss, he sounds more amused than annoyed, good. “Right, off to bed you go”

The angel straightens them up then, fixing his grip under his black wings, helping him stand like he weighs nothing.

“I have to wake up in two weeks” Crowley says when Aziraphale starts walking them to his room.

“Of course, love”

“We’re going to Tadfield, Adam wants to see us”

“Mhm” Aziraphale says sitting him on his bed, right before he realizes Crowley doesn't wear any shoes.

“He made me promise. He says to tell you ‘hi’”

“Oh, how nice” Aziraphale says, putting the covers over Crowley, before taking his glasses off so they don't bend while he is sleeping.

“Also… m’not straight” Aziraphale chuckles.

Crowley curls like a serpent on his bed and Aziraphale soul sings with love. He looks almost human like this; innocent and defenceless.

“Aziraphale” Crowley calls him once and then softer, drifting definitely to sleep “Aziraphale…”

On a whim, Aziraphale takes off his waistcoat and leaves it folded under Crowley’s head as a pillow. He can see Crowley snuggle closer to it on hi sleep before popping back to his bookshop for some tea and books to read in bed with Crowley, wouldn't the dear boy wake up in the middle of the week and decide everything has been a dream.

[1] People tend to open way on the street whenever Aziraphale is huring somewhere, same for semaphores. It's the same principle Crowley uses to drive.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this far!


End file.
